Drops
by freakwriterCHM
Summary: When it rains, in Gotham City, it's as if all of its victims were crying. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters involved in this story. They all belong to DC Comics/Christopher Nolan.

**A/N:** just something that I had written a while ago. I felt like posting it. Enjoy.

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Raindrops fall down heavily, and hit the car's roof with insistent thuds. It's not a long way, from the car to the front door, so he doesn't bother taking the umbrella. Bad choice. He stands under the porch, while one of his hands looks for the keys in his left pocket, then in his right one, and then he concludes that he probably left them in the car, and knocks on the door twice. He's soaking, and he knows that she won't like it, but again, he didn't think he would get so wet by making a few steps before reaching the safety of the porch. On the other hand, he should know. When it rains, in Gotham City, it's as if all of its victims were crying.

When his wife opens the door and sees him that way, she says nothing, and sighs. He knows, how she must feel. He even made her think he was dead, for the safety of his family. She gestures towards his damp clothes, and he says "I know", and nothing else. She lets him get in, and closes the door. Seconds later, he hears her calling the children to dinner while he hangs his wet coat next to the door. Drops of water start falling on the floor, and he can't help but think that it feels like it's raining inside the house, too.

He does his best not to be seen as he puts the gun and police badge away, into the nearest drawer, but somehow, she has a sort of instinct that makes her turn around at that precise moment. An exchange of glances, a sorrowful sigh, and the rumble of a thunder outside. Then the rumble of the children's feet, running to the kitchen. Every time they touch the ground, it feels like an explosion. But at least it's a positive one.

"Hello dad" says James, as he sits next to his father's seat. Even if she says it's not true, he's always thought that his son looks more like his mother than like him, and he thinks it's positive. James has always been the calm one. He's always played alone in his room, he's always been quiet and respectful to his parents and friends, he's always been a clever boy, and he has always gotten good grades at school. And he's calm, so calm. Even when a two-faced ex-DA threatens him and points a gun at his head, it's his mother who screams, and not him.

"Hi daddy!" exclaims Barbara, planting a kiss on her father's cheek before sitting down, next to her father's seat. Barbara has always been the cheerful one. She's always been happy, she's always wanted to share everything she did with the ones she loved. She's always been all kisses and hugs, and she's always been capable of demonstrating her love when it was needed the most.

He knows why they're always so cheerful when he comes home, he knows why they always want to sit next to him, he knows why they never seem tired of staying with him. It's not because he's the best of fathers. He knows why his wife is always anxious before he comes home, he knows why she's always so serious. He knows why she takes a little before relaxing, as if she wanted to be sure that he's really there. It's not because he's the best father, or the best husband in the world; it's because they live in Gotham, and he is one of the few cops that could actually be called cops. It's because Gotham could get tired of him, extend one of its monstrous arms, and grab him. Eat him. Make him disappear. It's because they've kind of already experimented it, when he has faked his death.

"Hi" he says. He ruffles his son's hair (something that the boy truly hates), and returns his daughter's kiss, then says he's gonna get changed. As he goes upstairs, he hears his daughter saying: "Did daddy go swimming with his clothes on?", and it makes him smile. Once he's put on a very old t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, he's ready for dinner. He sits down but, before one of his children can ask anything, his wife says "Jim," and he turns around to look at her, and so does his son. He doesn't even know how they came up with the idea of calling their children with their own names. There were no complaints though, except the little problem of not being capable of calling a person without having two turning around and asking, "what?"

"Don't rest on your elbows while you're at the dinner table" she reproaches; he finds out that the scolding could be applied to both of them, and smiles again. His wife puts a large plate full of meat and potatoes on the table, and she finally sits down, as his son begins to help himself. Then James puts the plate down, and both his parents systematically say "Help your sister". Barbara Jr. smiles at the unanimous expression, and James Jr. seems to remember that she can't help herself yet, not without making a mess that his mother would really, really mind cleaning.

"Hey, dad" says James Jr., "how did your day go?"

He knows it'll always be like that, he can't prevent them from asking him about his work. Barbara Jr. thinks it's exciting, and James Jr. … thinks it's _very_ exciting. He's always asking about colleagues, criminals, promotions, and the Batman. He doesn't always want to talk about work. His wife _never_ wants to hear about work. But his children do, and he can't help but tell them, being as evasive as possible. Even if he knows that there are more questions to come if he is.

"Fine" he says. "How did yours go?"

"School was boring today," James Jr. says. "we prepared ourselves for our English exam. Did you catch any criminals?"

He ignores the question, and turns to his daughter. "What about your day?"

"I'm tired" she said. "and James says I can't go to his friend's party. Everyone is going, I want to go!"

He's glad that someone has finally brought up another matter of discussion, so he glances at his wife, looking for support. He knows she's always there for support. Like now. She swallows and says, "Why did you tell that to your sister, James?"

"She's boring, I don't wanna take her with me" James says, assaulting a potato. "They will make fun of me."

"Which party is that?" his father asks, hoping for further explanation that will divert the subject of their conversation from his job, and his day at the GCPD.

"It's a costume party" Barbara Jr. says, excitingly. "I wanna go! I wanna dress up as the Batman!"

"The Batman is a man, idiot" James Jr. says. "James!" intervenes his mother, but his sister is faster. "Who says I can't be a girl Batman? I want to be him! No, I want to be his partner. I want to be Batgirl!"

Her father laughs, and her mother does, too. Only her brother is too offended, and concentrated on his meal. "Batman cannot be a girl. Batman is a man. And he will never need the help of _girls_."

"Looks like we have a little sexist here" his father says. "Isn't it that you don't want her to dress up as Batgirl because _you_ want to dress up as the Batman?"

"No." James Jr. shakes his head slowly, and says, "I wanna dress up like you."

Silence falls on the room for a while. His wife smiles, but her eyes are wet with tears. His son wants to dress up like him. He knows what his wife fears. She fears that her son will want to be a cop as soon as he grows up. And he fears that too. They stay silent, and he manages a smile, before his daughter says: "You'll need glasses then. And moustaches" , and everybody laughs.

James Jr. is embarrassed. "Shut up, Bat_girl_" he murmurs, his attention focused on his meal, once again.

They manage to keep the conversation out of the 'job field'. He's glad. After dinner he helps his wife with the dishes, and it feels like he hasn't done it in a long, long time. He's going to say goodnight to the kids when she stops him.

"Jim" she says, or rather, she whispers. But he hears her, and turns around.

"Yes, Barbara?"

"What happened today?"

"What happened? What do you mean?"

Very poor choice of words.

"You were late. Again."

"Oh. That." He stops at the threshold, and says: "Nothing, really. I just had to talk to _him_, you know he doesn't like to come early."

"Could you tell him that the police is looking for him, and that he should not be seen with you? Or better, could you tell him that you have a family who's always worried that if you're not coming home in time, it's because somebody killed you?"

"Barbara."

"At least, will you make your son change your mind about his future job?" She says it coldly, but he can tell she's about to cry, even if she's not looking at him.

"Sure. But you know that trying to make him change his mind _won't_ change his mind." He looks down, then adds: "It might just make things… get worse."

_Crash_, and a plate is broken. She stares at it as if she'd just committed a murder, then rests her head on her left hand, and leans against the kitchen counter. "I… I don't think I can take this anymore, Jim, I really can't."

He's fast. Sometimes, he thinks that actions are better than words; he grabs her wife by the shoulders, and makes her turn around to face him. "Barbara. Hey. It's okay. Alright? It's okay."

She collapses onto him and cries on his shoulder. But he knows he's a good shoulder to cry on. He wraps his arms around his wife's back, and says, "Come on. It's okay. It's okay." He holds her tight, and knows that it'll pass. Like the other times. He's getting used to it, even if he wish he weren't.

Jim Gordon looks outside, through the window pane, over his wife's head. When it rains, in Gotham City, it's as if all of its victims were crying. And maybe it's true.

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**A/N:** I really had to put the Batgirl reference in there. Hope you enjoyed.


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